Livia knew very well: people mustn't talk about emotions. First, because we expose ourselves and thus become vulnerable. Second, because no one really cares about our emotional aches. And if, on the contrary, we are bursting with happiness, we should definitely stay quiet.

"Insensitive." She found it hard to process her friend’s words. If she had to describe herself in one word, that certainly wouldn’t have been it. She would have thought of cheerful or unshakable. This “insensitive” caught her by surprise. Especially coming from someone who knew her well. Someone who loved her.

She flinched as the key turned in the lock. Finally, he had arrived! Dia put down her hairbrush and ran to meet him. By the time Máté stepped through the door, Dia was already there, arms wide open, ready to embrace him. She breathed in his scent deeply.

Boss: Hello, I am looking for the perfect Employee.

Candidate: Hello, I hope that will be me!

Olga clutched her coffee mug on the terrace, stealing glances at the cars that seemed to appear “out of nowhere” from the corner of her eye. She would have loved to lean back and stretch out, watching what she so loved to see. “What if it never comes?” Albert had already called twice to ask if she could sense it yet.

With a vanilla ice cream iced coffee in her hand, she watched her nieces from a distance as they rolled across the grass in the back of the yard, hands held above their heads. They were laughing in a bubbly way, calling out alternately to their grandmother and their father. But not to her. The children had learned: You mustn't disturb Eri while she's having coffee.

She stopped for a moment and inhaled the cool, salty evening air. The sun had just started to dip behind the hills of the neighboring island. Mira took a mental photograph of the breathtaking scene.

“It's Wednesday,” she thought, and smiled. Then she began counting to herself again.

The heavy, sweet, cheap perfume filled the hallway, ruining the fresh scent of a September afternoon streaming in through the window. When Edit smelled it, she would have preferred to retreat back into her office. Her already sensitive nose was further challenged by her condition.

Laughter struck her with such force that she barely managed to bring her hand to her face in time. This was her latest method when it wasn't enough to clench her mouth shut, and she couldn't bend down to hide her teeth.

The wind picked up the moment her feet touched the wet sand, as if it had sensed that the woman in her late sixties had begun her daily five-kilometer walk along the long, 1,100-meter stretch of beach.